To there and back
by Ninefifteen
Summary: Max chose Arcadia Bay over Chloe, and she cannot live with it. Is there any way to really save the girl she loves AND fix all of Blackwell's mess, once and for all ?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N : Hey everyone ! Here's a story set in the bay over bae ending (even though I'm a big fan of the other one). It is complete, with 13 chapters. Updates weekly, most likely on fridays. I hope you'll like it !**

 **Chapter 1**

(Blackwell, October 7)

 _What the hell... I must be really, really high right now_ , Chloe thought.

And "high" was really weak given her present situation.

She was in Blackwell's girls bathroom, close to the... ceiling, somewhere above the stall the farthest from the entrance. Probably perched on its wall, even, facing the main door. She could see the other stalls from above — she kind of regretted no hot chick was in there, until she remembered what those stalls were for — not the kinky stuff that turned her on.

A male voice exuding panic distracted her. She looked to her left beneath her.

 _No way... Prescott Dickhead, talking to himself? And waving a gun?_

She wanted to go further down, to see what his babbling was about, but she couldn't. Instead, she somehow managed to slide to the left, and she suddenly felt a lump in her throat.

There she was. Lying on the cold, damp tiles. In a pool of blood slowly spreading out. There she was, and she seemed very dead.

 _Oh god. Remind me of not taking Frank's experimental stuff again._

She closed her eyes, hoping that she'd return to regular highness when she'd reopen them — turned out she didn't.

She was still in the bathroom, Nathan still freaking out, her body still very, very lifeless.

 _Isn't the damn brat supposed to call the police? Or at least step-douche?_ Chloe thought angrily.

Again she tried to get closer to the ground, to warn him or something. And again she couldn't.

She didn't freak out, though — to her own surprise.

This whole thing was weird, as weird as the flashy blue butterfly she noticed from the corner of her eye. It quietly folded and unfolded its fragile wings, restlessly. Steady and slow, just like a heartbeat.

A heartbeat she couldn't feel in her chest anymore.

Her mind froze, unable to process the thought that confirmed what her eyes could see.

Against her will she started to levitate higher, getting closer and closer to the ceiling, unable to resist. Nathan's voice faded out.

And just as she was about to go through the ceiling, she could hear something else — sobs. Unexpected, quiet sobs... fueled with utter desperation. A whole world of sorrow and grief.

Someone was in there, crying — for her? — but she wouldn't get the chance to know who it was.

The butterfly flapped its wings more and more slowly, until it folded them, seemingly once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

(?, October 7)

Chloe didn't feel anything when she simply crossed the bathroom's ceiling, up to... to…

 _Where the hell am I?_ she thought.

No floor, no ceiling, no walls — just plain whiteness, as far as the eye could see. Wherever it was, it seemed to extend in either a single, or an infinity of dimensions. It seemed ethereal, by the blinding whiteness, yet solid as Chloe didn't feel like she was falling down.

She felt a bit dizzy. Definitely, she'd never take Frank's experimental stuff again, and…

The realization slowly fell down on her shoulders. The... body in the bathroom, it was hers, no doubt about it. And she now was in a plain white no man's land that furiously looked like all the bullshit she imagined after bible study — about paradise and all.

 _And... the sobs I heard... who could it be?_ she wondered.

— Come on, I'm sure you can figure it out, a male voice answered from behind.

A voice she hadn't heard in years.

Five. Long. Fucking. Years.

Chloe bluntly turned around, almost losing balance, tears instantly forming in her eyes:

— D... Da— Dad?

There he was, a smile on his face, arms wide open — and before she knew it, she crashed against him, trapped herself in his arms, and cried all the tears she had wanted to shed for all these years.

She was fourteen again — no, even younger, and he was her shelter.

She couldn't say for how long she cried. She had no sense of time anymore — not that the still whiteness around her would help with that, either. She felt like her chest had finally been unloaded, and quite reluctantly, broke their cuddle to look at him.

His face was beaming with joy, yet a spark of concern arose when he spoke:

— Didn't expect you here so soon.

— ... I— I... I'm…

Chloe's chest started to hurt again as she searched for reprobation on his face — and relaxed when she couldn't find any. It actually sounded like he had been somehow expecting her here. She opened her mouth again in an attempt to reply, but she choked on her words — too much to express and too much to ask.

She gulped loudly, breathed, and the first words she managed to let out, in a creaky voice, were "I missed you".

His eyes, his smile softened.

— I missed you so much, Dad, she repeated in a heartbreaking tone. Why did you have to leave?

She asked that with more desperation than anger.

— Shh... we're not here about me now, Chloe.

— Wai— Wha— Where the _fuck_ are we anyway?

— Hey, that's one dollar —

— For the swear jar, I know that... But, really. Where are we?

— Welcome to the Afterlife! he exclaimed, opening his arms again.

— Afterli— oh shit. So that's real. I'm really…

She couldn't say, nor even think the word, now that someone else made her previous vision so real.

— Obviously, he replied.

His sad tone made it clear that she was way too young to be with him again. No matter how happy this reunion would make them both.

— And you wanted to know who was sobbing for you in this bathroom, he recalled.

He took Chloe's wrist, rose it up and with her hand, he drew an imaginary circle.

— Now that we're talking about it, Chloe. A bathroom? Seriously?

— ... Dad…

She briefly averted her eyes, blushing again. For the first time since her life got fucked up, she considered questioning some of her choices.

The inside of the air circle started to gently vibrate, undulate, like a heat wave on an asphalt road. Then the bathroom appeared on this flicking, immaterial screen.

Chloe witnessed her own body get shot, Nathan's panic, and again — these heart-tearing sobs.

— Who — I have no _fucking_ idea who —

Her dad slightly rotated her hand and she could see a small, frail girl sat on the floor, hugging her own knees against her chest.

Things remained messy like that for a moment. Then Nathan seemed to regain his spirits — if that could apply to him — and rushed out to call for help. The small girl unfolded herself and slowly, shakily got to her feet —

— Ma— Is that Max?!

That was so unexpected that it left Chloe speechless for a moment. She watched Max collapse to her knees next to her, shed some more tears, then bend over her head as if to lend a kiss on her temple.

— Pfff, pretend that you care, Chloe muttered bitterly.

— Keep watching, her dad said.

— Dad! She lives like I don't exist for five years and suddenly kisses me? Out of nowhere? Come on, do you think she cares? I'm not gonna buy that!

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder to soothe her anger away.

— There are two interesting things I need to tell you, he said as the scene kept on happening in the air circle.

— What? Chloe dryly asked, forcing herself to switch topics.

— From here, you can see everything. The past, the present, the future... All of the possible futures, actually.

— All of the— What the hell are you even talking about?

— That's how I know what Max has done for you, in another... reality.

— Dad... it's the lamest joke I—

— Just check it by yourself, Chloe.

The scene had changed. It was still taking place in the bathroom, but this time Max was picking a hammer, breaking the security glass and triggering the fire alarm.

The image on the air screen then jumped to the parking lot. Nathan Prescott was hitting another guy standing between Max and him. Max was pushed aside and fell. Chloe was about to run on her with her truck when she abruptly stopped and realized who she actually was…

— No— No way, she whispered. It can't be…

— And though, it is, Chloe. Different realities do exist, in which different things happen.

Chloe contemplated him. He seemed to enjoy himself, amazed at what he had discovered here. He looked like those grown men turning into kids on Christmas eve as they unwrap the latest fashionable gadget.

Before she knew it, Chloe bluntly asked if there was a reality where he, William Price, wouldn't have abandoned her. He frowned and replied softly:

— There is one. But it was far worse than the one you've been through.

— Bullshit. How could it be wo—

— Trust me on that.

He was now staring intensely at her. He seemed... devastated, an expression Chloe had never seen on his traits, and she decided to drop the subject.

— What's the other interesting thing? she asked instead.

— Some people that are still very alive know these realities too. They can live them, make choices, and literally rewind time to unmake them, and live another reality…

— That's amazeballs!

— Guess who can do that? Max. Your Max Caulfield.

— Why would she…

— I don't know why she has that power. But I've seen all the realities she's faced, Chloe — and she faced them all in order to protect you.

— Why would she do such insane things. She wasn't even able to send a single damn text…

His face lit up with a smile of pride and affection.

— From what I've seen, Chloe…

He wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders, tightly.

— ... she has done it because she loves you. She's loved you ever since you were kids...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

(Blackwell, October 14)

Since Chloe's... burial, Max had been... devastated. She'd remained silent most of the time, except this one time she met Joyce and they both got their sadness off their chests, reliving ancient memories — Joyce having of course no recollection of the crazy week Max had spent with Chloe.

And also this other time when Max, out of desperation, had called her parents hoping their voices and love and compassion — and their understanding of who Chloe was for their daughter — would soothe her pain. It turned out she had to be careful with every word she spoke, trapped in memories that never existed, and it didn't help her bearing their weight. Then her mom had said, her voice shaking with tears waiting to be shed:

— And to think she passed away before you two got a chance to reconnect... I'm so sorry, Maxine.

The thought broke Max's heart and after that, she quickly ended the call. "Before you two got a chance to reconnect". She was the only one to know this wasn't true. For everyone else, including Chloe, they never got in touch in five long, unfair years. The fact that Chloe... died with so much bitterness and anger tore her heart apart. The punk didn't know how much the nerd loved her. Damn, in this lost reality, they could've been lovers... if only Max had had what it took to wipe out an entire town.

She tried to rewind once, one night when Chloe's absence and the weight of her final decision had been particularly painful — only to find out she couldn't. Her powers were gone.

That's when she realized Chloe's death was a truth she couldn't escape. She had to learn to cope with the sorrow. She had no choice but to accept it. No choice — oh the irony.

After the burial and her testimony to Nathan's crime — in which she could only talk about the specific events of the bathroom, and had to keep shut all the vast conspiracy she knew about... — she returned back to class.

She had thought it'd help her to move on — she only found out things were actually getting worse.

Nathan had been charged with drugs possession and dealing and such. Justice was in the making for Kate.

But Jefferson was still "teaching" — fortunately Max heard about it before reaching the art class, buying her enough time to rush to her dorm room and lock herself in it. Either Nathan hadn't bailed on his fucking mentor, or his dad "convinced" the cops to not further inquire on his son's... extracurricular activities.

She had to do something, but how? She had no material proof and couldn't predict how David Madsen would react in this reality, especially now that Kate's case had been re-qualified as "teenagers bullshit". Which meant the link between Kate's and Rachel's cases would be harder to make, and give the latter even less chances to get revenge.

Which also meant Chloe paid for nothing.

At first she was scared as hell. How could she do that — chasing ghosts and proofs and the embodiment of evil — alone? With no powers at all? And without... Chloe? Her Chloe, her best friend, her teammate... the girl she loved? Max knew she _had to_ , but she somehow was paralysed.

In the late afternoon she was still deep in thought, sat on her chair, her elbows rooted into her desk, her hands tight around her skull. As all those haunting thoughts kept racing through her mind, she noticed a move right in front of her.

There it sat, between her arms: the blue butterfly.

Max's heart skipped a beat. The butterfly was standing still, as if its eyes were gazing at her — or so she imagined.

A gentle, cool air brushed her cheek and made the butterfly's wings quiver. And every moment she alone had spent with Chloe since they met that tiny creature hit her like a wrecking ball. She struggled to keep her tears at bay as the butterfly stayed there motionless. She couldn't afford to drown into tears and despair yet.

Meeting this creature once again was a sign. A sign that she had to actually do something, to fight again. With or without powers. She had to.

For Arcadia Bay's girls' sake. For Rachel. And for Chloe.

Max had spent part of the night to recollect every evidence she and Chloe had found regarding Rachel's fate and Jefferson's obsession. She did it dutifully, going through every single detail she could remember, to make sure this monster of a man would pay.

The moment she decided to get back in the battle, the butterfly had briefly flapped its wings, like some sort of a nod, then had flown off the opened window. As if to confirm her it was the good choice.

She concluded she had to go back to the Prices'. For some reason, she wanted to make sure the cops would believe her — and she remembered David's locker code, so she could get all the printed evidences she needed.

She could also spend a few moments in Chloe's room, and with Joyce's approval, take a few items she would want to keep from their shared childhood...

Max's guts twisted at the thought.

She had seen this room empty once. She didn't want to relive it.

She wanted her Chloe back there, dancing on her bed or "medicating" or daring her to kiss her... Her chest swelled with love at the thought of Chloe's bright, messy soul — a love so big it was painfully trying to overflow her ribcage.

She missed her so much —

Something cool and weightless brushed her back, between her shoulders, and she shivered. It was quick but felt like a touch of longing and affection...

It felt so cold in there suddenly. Max's hands each grabbed the opposite arm and started brushing them to get a bit warmer. She felt the stings of absence and loneliness...

She glanced at her phone — 2 AM. She was most certainly tired, hence the cool brush on her back — exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Max got up, yawning, and changed into her night clothes. She slid into her bed, turned the bedside lamp off.

Damn, the sheets too were as cold as ice. She would have given everything to have a certain someone spooning her right now, keeping her safe...

And they didn't even get the chance to experience such cuddles. Life was strange, and lately, it mostly sucked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

(Afterlife, October 14)

Chloe was completely overexcited. At first she had watched the "other reality" a bit reluctantly. She didn't really want to see Max in action. She wanted to consider the two of them had grown apart and become strangers, and at first it hurt her pride to change her mind. To actually forgive.

But in the end she got totally dragged into whatever crazy adventure the other she and the other Max were sailing through, and the end brutally stabbed her. The whole sacrifice thing. Saving Arcadia Bay's folks to the price of her own life. This was why she was in this Afterlife no man's land now.

It all blew her mind, and after seeing the last time Max rewound, Chloe remained silent, frozen.

Frozen at the realization of Max carrying an awful burden, and horrible, non-existent memories for the rest of her life.

Frozen at the fact she herself, Chloe Price, was the one actually suggesting the deal: _my_ sorry ass out of the living world to save hundreds of people.

Seeing a not selfish version of herself for the first time in eons...? And for such big a matter...?

 _Hella weird._

She was surprised to find how _right_ her last words sounded — Joyce really didn't deserve to die. If there was only one person to save, it was Joyce.

It was painful for Chloe to think about her mom, to see her again in the other reality unfolding in front of her eyes.

— When I left for Blackwell today — that day — I had just argued with Mom, she explained to her dad still standing next to her.

He had been silent all the time, waiting for his daughter to speak first.

— It's okay. You couldn't know what would happen.

— I didn't even say a decent goodbye…

She turned towards him, half-expecting some disappointment or something like that — instead, she found a small, broken smile on his lips.

— Me neither, he replied softly. And I'm... so sorry about that, Chloe.

Her eyes widened as he said that and, all of a sudden, she was fourteen again. Something in her chest exploded, and she started crying, sobbing uncontrollably. She went to her dad and as he wrapped her in his arms, she melted, dissolved into tears, weakly punching his chest and then crumbling against it.

It took ages for her to compose herself and look like a regular human being again. She felt way less angry than she had been for the past five years, reaching a peace of a sort that was pretty new to her — not chemically induced, that is. She felt light, even a bit dizzy — that made her open to the mushy stuff she avoided otherwise:

— I wish I could tell Mom I'm sorry, she said. And tell Max I'm... grateful... I guess…

— Oh, I bet you actually can.

Her dad gave her a knowing smile.

— But... how?

— That, my girl, is up to you.

He winked and started walking away.

— I'll be right back, he said, waving his hand.

 _Damn. Don't tell me things like that, like, ever again_... Chloe's chest felt tight, too tight for her pounding heart, and she wanted to follow him, but the plain whiteness seemed to extend infinitely between them, keeping him out of reach.

She tried to acknowledge that fact, and reason herself — which again was pretty new to her: they were both dead. There was no chance any of them would go anywhere else. He would find her again, eventually — just as he did in the first place. Maybe he just wanted to give her some space to... express what she had to.

It took another while but she eventually calmed down. Turning to where she came from, she finally noticed the circle of air had somehow followed her and she still could see into it.

She now was looking at her own reality — the one she wasn't living in anymore.

It was nighttime there.

She approached the circle, reached for it with her hand... maybe she could sneak in briefly or something... long enough to leave a note somewhere so that the beings she loved would, well, know she loved them.

Better do this while she was in the mood for mushy stuff.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

(Blackwell, October 15)

Max had woken up early this morning, way too early in her opinion. But that was it, and she was too full awake for her hopes of falling back asleep to be realistic.

As soon as she could do so without looking rude or creepy, she texted Joyce to know when she could visit. Joyce replied almost immediately that she could come to the Prices' share a breakfast with her — chances were she too had a... complicated night. Max quickly dressed up and hopped on in the first school bus she managed to catch.

She sat as comfortably as she could, her head resting against the window, and just tried to go with the flow.

Her body was tired as hell but her mind couldn't stop racing, back and forth her desperate plan to solve Rachel's case, to the night she'd just had.

It indeed was the weirdest night. The dream she had had was as vivid as reality. It stirred up real feelings in her, triggered her five senses.

In there she'd met Chloe, her Chloe, her dearest dork — her heart clenched in her chest at the thought. She'd seen her, her slender, colorful frame, as gorgeous as she'd always had been. And she could actually hear her, as she poured unexpected words of gratitude into the weird void extending between them — as if she knew what they'd gone through the last other week, and was thankful for the reunion and all their moments as a team.

Which was impossible.

The instant Chloe appeared, Max could smell her perfume, imagine the taste of her lips — which, in practice, she'd experienced only twice —, feel her own fingertips itching, longing for her pale, soft skin…

Which, too, was impossible — she'd always heard that the senses of smell, taste, and touch didn't exist in dreams.

Maybe her brain, on the edge of waking up, had recreated the missing sensations due to her feelings for Chloe.

She recognized Chloe's house in the distance and pressed the stop button.

She was grateful the journey was over. Enough daydreaming. She had to focus on her task now, her duty towards Rachel and Chloe, and while busy at that, there was no room for mourning and pain and tears and the temptation to rewind even though she knew she couldn't.

Joyce made her enter and she followed her to the kitchen. She was preparing breakfast, but the pancakes in the making and the fresh coffee smelled dull without Chloe to have them with. One glance at Joyce and Max knew the feeling was shared.

She seemed exhausted, looking ten years older when only a week had passed. No trace could be seen of her calm strength…

— So, Joyce. How have you been doing since... the... other day? Max asked feebly, knowing the answer all too well already.

— Barely alive, she replied with a sigh. I don't know what to do with myself. I'd rather…

Joyce's words trailed off but the unsaid idea was clear enough. She numbly put a plate of pancakes on the table and took a seat opposite to Max.

— We'd had our fights, she added, and Chloe did mix with the wrong kind, but... she didn't deserve that…

Her eyes were glistening and for a second she seemed like on the edge of breaking down; but she wiped the forming tears, took a deep breath and asked:

— Anyway... how about you, Max?

Max awkwardly shifted her weight on her chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Whatever pain she could go through was nothing compared to Joyce's, but still, Joyce cared about her, how she was doing... even though, in this reality, Max was the useless brat that bailed on her daughter for five years, popping out of nowhere when it already was too late.

There were so much love and forgiveness in a mother's heart.

— I... feel empty, Max confessed. I... think about Chloe... constantly. Good memories coming back... I even dreamed about her last night…

— So did I, Joyce replied, both moved and surprised. And she was all... kind and enthusiastic, she added. Like when she was a kid. I missed that so much…

Joyce looked away briefly, her eyes shimmering again. Then she grabbed a pancake and took a chew, mostly to keep her mind busy.

— It's beautiful, Max replied, a lump forming in her throat. In my dream, she... she forgave me for... those five years and…

Max locked her gaze onto that of the other woman and added solemnly:

— I'm sorry, Joyce. I should have called her or at least sent a text. I just... didn't know how to be a friend... without being here in person.

Joyce slightly nodded, chewing her pancake without even thinking. Max searched her traits for a hint of disappointment or anger or anything resentful she totally deserved, but couldn't find any.

She took a bite of a pancake. It was good, but these were better when you had to save a few for yourself before Chloe or William devoured the entire plate — no matter how big the plate was.

Joyce was done eating and laid her hands flat on the table. She seemed to ponder her words for a while, then she spoke quietly:

— Some people say that... when someone... passes away... those who stay alive often have dreams about them. Dreams where they get the message they wanted to hear. As if the... lost one would want to... leave properly or something.

She paused, collecting her thoughts again. Max couldn't speak — the lump in her throat was so big now she could barely breathe.

— So, maybe those dreams we had, Joyce continued, they are what we both needed to hear from her. We needed to know that she... loved us... no matter what.

Again tears appeared in her eyes, and she got up to grab a tissue. It was so not her. Max could barely imagine how excruciating her pain was, to make her behavior so... out of character.

— Do you... do you think it's a real message? she asked. Or... something our brains recreated somehow?

Joyce seemed to really ponder Max's question.

— I'm not sure, she answered finally. For all I know it could be both…

Their gazes met and, without saying it, they both knew they thought about the same thing: Chloe's presence in this dream felt so real. So _physical_.

— So, huh, Max started, eager to switch to another less uncomfortable topic. What are you gonna do today?

— Going back to work, Max. It's been a week already... I can't afford to stay home any longer.

— I see... maybe it'll help to... keep your mind busy.

— Yeah... I don't like being so numb. Besides, I'm not sure Chloe would approve this version of me!

She let out a nervous laugh. Pain was written all over her face. It was so hard to see her being so not herself. Hopefully, getting back to the trivial things of life would help her to go through this.

They chatted for a few minutes, while doing the dishes together and packing the remaining pancakes. And Joyce finally left, lending a spare key to Max.

Max stood still, tightly holding the key — which was attached to some of Chloe's childhood key chains — until she could reasonably say Joyce was gone for sure. Then she took a deep breath and crossed over the living-room towards the garage.

David's rack was still there, and still locked, but Max remembered the code — 7171 — and she quickly opened it. She decided the best place to go through all the evidences was Chloe's room — it was painful to be in there but she also felt some nostalgia rush urging her to do so. Maybe she could keep a few items... like Chloe's jacket or something…

She closed the locker and, both lifted and weighed down by conflicted feelings, she headed upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

(The Prices' house, October 15)

Once upstairs, Max took a deep breath. It indeed was too soon to be here, but she felt like she had no choice — oh the irony.

She pushed the door, slowly, with no noise, as if she expected to find Chloe asleep and didn't want to wake her up. She took a tiny step to enter and closed the door behind.

And she froze, assaulted by memories.

 _Ready for the mosh pit, shaka brah._

 _Come on, shake that bony white ass!_

 _I double dare you. Kiss me now._

She felt like all air had been pressed out of her chest. She was literally vacuum packed, unable to look away from the exact spot of the dare. The very moment she had realized how natural it would feel for her to kiss Chloe again. And again. And again and again, just to make sure both of them liked it — which certainly was true.

Would have been true.

 _Should_ have been true.

Her respiratory drive shook her out of her thoughts and she released a long, almost painful breath she wasn't aware of keeping.

She couldn't drown into sorrow. Not now. She had a duty to fulfill, by any means.

She cautiously walked further into the room, each creak of the wooden floor resonating as hell, echoing in Chloe's deafening absence.

Trying her best to brush those feelings away, Max sat on the edge of the bed and spread the borrowed files on it. Everything was there... The GPS coordinates, the license plates, the pictures... all the clues she needed.

Her chest swelled with a sense of duty. Finally there was something she could _do_ …

She gathered the most incriminating pieces, folded them cautiously and slid them into her messenger bag. She put the other files back in their paper folder and pushed it aside, mentally noting to bring it back to the locker.

And then she just sat there, on the edge of the bed, facing the door, trying to figure out what she'd do next.

On her way out she would buy a disposable phone and send an anonymous text to David Madsen, hoping he would behave as bravely and righteously as he did in this lost reality.

A reality in which he had suspected she knew about Rachel's case, about his secret files and own investigation, in which he just _knew her_ to begin with. But right now, given the Prescotts' power — that did not need to be further demonstrated — she couldn't afford lessening her clues' value by just sending them out in her own name.

She was there when Nathan shot Chloe, and she had to testify it to the cops. If she was the one to accuse him, and her teacher, of even worse deeds a few days later, it would only be seen as a desperate need for revenge.

She flopped down on the bed, suddenly afraid. This damn text was her only chance to do justice to Rachel, put Jefferson in jail _and_ make Chloe's sacrifice only slightly worth it. What if it failed, though? What if _she_ failed?

She couldn't go there by herself. She was not strong enough for that — as she hadn't been strong enough to save the girl she loved.

Her mind racing through hypotheses that went from bad to even worse, her heart pounding, she rolled on her side in an attempt to curl up. Her face landed near a pillow.

Chloe's pillow.

On its old, used, yet soft cloth, she still could smell it — the unique mix of shampoo, perfume, ash and Chloe's scent.

She suppressed a sob as memories flooded her again.

They had spent their childhood in here, had a thousand sleepovers — but this time had passed. No matter how heartily she'd wish it — this time, Chloe wouldn't come back.

Max grabbed the pillow and held it tight, closing her eyes, inhaling deeply — and quietly, she cried.

#

— Eh, Max. Maximus. Max-a-mil.

From the depth of slumber Max recognized Chloe's voice. She struggled to open her puffy, red eyes.

There she was, sat on the bed, a huge grin on her face…

 _My Chloe._

Max wanted to speak, to get up and embrace her friend... to kiss her... but she couldn't. As if she were... paralysed, forced to only listen.

— Don't be such a crybaby, Chloe teased — but there was gratefulness in her eyes. It's not so bad up here, ya know? Dad's here, too. Too bad I only got to watch this crazy-ass week with you, though... jeez, kissing me in a tornado? Now that was a move!

She now was smiling a bit dorkly. So, she liked it. Approved it. Well. At least Max knew her feelings weren't unrequited. Just like she had decided to believe.

Chloe's gaze slightly softened, and she raised her hand as if to run it into Max's hair; her silhouette got blurrier, and Max couldn't feel her touch.

Just before she dissolved into ether, Max could read on her lips:

— Love you, hippie.

#

With a huge gasp, Max jolted awake. She had taken a mini-nap on Chloe's bed, hugging her pillow... she scanned the room, half expecting to see Chloe sitting at her desk like this time after she... rewound... after killing William once again.

The outside caught her eyes when she looked through the window.

An unexpected, rather strong wind had picked up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

(The Prices' house, October 15)

Max took a few more minutes to engrave Chloe's ethereal presence onto herself, and finally, a bit reluctantly, she got back to her feet. She had no time to waste in... "mushy stuff". Later, with Jefferson fallen from creepy grace and everyone avenged, she would be able to rest and cry her eyes out for weeks and even disappear from the social world for a while.

One last look, and she exited the room.

She put the remaining files back in David's locker, and finally left. By the end of the day things would be sorted out.

She deliberately took a road she wouldn't have taken under normal circumstances, stopped by the first shop she met and bought the disposable phone. With plain money.

She didn't know why she was being so paranoid. Something in her guts told her to stay as anonymous as she could, "just in case".

She cursed her guts for being so pessimistic, but listened to them nevertheless.

She then entered a bar she'd never been too — a place that wasn't a bar during her childhood, actually — and sat at the most isolated booth. She asked for some coffee and once served, keeping a close watch on her surroundings, she cautiously took photos of the clues with the phone. She then crafted the perfect message and, breathing deeply, sent it all to David Madsen.

Now she just had to wait... she quietly sipped the coffee, waiting long enough to be late at Blackwell — next class was Jefferson's class. Better go to hell than there. She then left the bar, dropped the phone in the first bin she found and headed back to school.

Max made it to Blackwell, eventually. A mix of anxiety and eager waiting had taken a hold on her the moment she'd sent the fateful text to David Madsen.

She headed to the dorms, relieved that she had no chance to run into her photography "teacher", as he was busy lecturing future potential preys. On her way, she didn't meet David Madsen, either — maybe he was already driving to the old, creepy barn. She didn't cross paths with anyone who could've talked to her, actually, and it was just what she needed — some time alone to... figure out what she'd do next or... try to grab some sleep or... just let herself think and feel. Whatever, as long as it was alone time.

She finally entered her room and locked the door without even thinking.

She stood still for a few seconds, allowing relief to partly wash her sore mind, then she put her bag on the floor and collapsed on the sofa. Eyes closed, the back of her head resting against the wall, she let out a long, heavy sigh.

She'd done everything she could have. Things were out of her hands now, only to be in better ones.

Before the end of day Blackwell would experience its second earthquake in a week — its most famous teacher finally being seen for who he was — and it was comforting.

The newly paranoid part of her raised its voice, though, and she reopened her eyes, her heart beating slightly faster, warily. Again, what if her plan failed? What if she failed?

The cops should better hurry, so that she could finally get rid of this new, unexpected, disquieting part of herself.

Max's gaze scanned the room, searching for anything to distract her. There was her guitar but she wasn't in the mood for music, like, at all. Even for the soft, soothing folk notes she could play. Her laptop? With the Internet? She would only get assaulted by the news — they weren't done with Chloe's case yet. There were her books but she was too tired to read — besides, she wasn't ready to swallow some shady theories about photography, not anytime soon. She felt nauseous at the very idea of it.

Her eyes stopped on her wall of photos. Would she be able to take some ever again? Or was she forever marked with the fear of that cursed power unexpectedly returning to her? Or... would she be haunted by the blue butterfly...?

She got to her feet and approached the wall to get a closer, new look.

Some of those were old, generic selfies — and she barely recognized herself on them. She indeed looked innocent back then... Jefferson's voice echoed in her mind and she felt sick. She looked away from those.

Others were old pics from Seattle; they felt even older, like centuries old, like in another life.

Then came the other ones, and there were only a handful of these, that had been taken in the very first days of autumn. Before Blackwell's bullshit. Most of them, photos of the landscape at dawn, stood right where Nathan's hateful graffiti had been in another timeline, making them useless squares of paper — she was kind of glad they were pristine this time.

Nathan... she resented him, how could she not? But she couldn't bring herself to hate him. What he did and who he was weren't fully his fault.

Max spotted the only photo of this set that wasn't an empty landscape. It was a selfie taken early in the morning, in the middle of the intriguing nature surrounding Blackwell's campus. She had a genuine smile on it. She remembered this moment perfectly: squirrels, early birds, the rising sun and her, alone, embracing the world's beauty. This morning had been the first time she could take pictures after a long series of busy days, and it had felt special.

She unpinned the photo and sat back on the sofa. Carefully, she cupped it in her hands as if it was precious — the precious testimony of a time long gone, but so close nevertheless. A time when she was nothing more than a regular, nerdy student, doing homework and wondering how to reconnect with her childhood best friend…

Again Max felt tempted to rewind. She tried…

She tried with all her will, and she failed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

(Afterlife, October 15)

William had said he'd come back, and he did — which had sent another bunch of emotions into his daughter's chest. They had talked a while, catching up with all those years they had spent apart, until William noticed the circle of air was still there, floating a few feet behind Chloe.

— This little guy didn't fade out? he asked, genuinely surprised.

— No, why? Should it have?

— Sure. From what I've learned here in Afterlife, the more time you spend here, the less you keep in touch with the Earthlings and their struggles.

— Shit. So the things people told me about dead relatives spending their eternity looking out from above... it was crap?

— Not exactly, he replied.

He had dropped the "swear jar" topic, having quickly gotten that it was now Chloe's speech pattern.

— But such a circle is not supposed to last so long, he added. And you can't reopen one, either.

Chloe's eyes narrowed in perplexity, and for a moment, she stared at the circle, unable to speak.

— What are you gonna do with that? William asked out of real curiosity.

— Well…

She approached the circle, feeling her dad following her.

The events currently unfolding were Max getting out of the Prices' house after her mini-nap, her messenger bag securely wrapping a set of vital clues, and a pile of equally vital pancakes.

— She looks... so serious, like on a mission... I should help her, Chloe realized.

— I'm not sure you can from here, William wondered out loud. You can send a few messages, but actual help...?

— At least I'll try, she replied a bit defiantly. I mean, she tried to save my sorry ass. She tried her best... because she cared so much... because she luh— she... well, you saw it yourself…

Her last sentence died out in a whisper as she looked away, feeling a slight blush creeping its way upon her cheeks.

— You mean...? ... Oh, _that_? her dad teased in a mock realization. The kiss…

Chloe cautiously turned to him. He had a huge grin plastered on his face.

— Dad... would you have... minded... if I... if Max and I had —

— Gosh, you two were literally glued together back then, he replied. I knew she'd be part of our family forever, in one way or another. Of course I wouldn't have minded you girls making each other happy. Your mom and I almost kind of expected that…

His face was now beaming with pride and affection, and Chloe melted with relief and long needed proof of said affection.

They locked gazes for a brief moment of quiet complicity, and Chloe returned to the circle of air.

— I'm gonna help her, as long as this circle exists, she declared. I owe her that at least.

To be honest, the more she witnessed about their week as a team, the more she felt all her affection for Max striking back.

And when she dared her to kiss her, she meant it. And when she said no one would be good enough for Max, except herself, she also meant it.

And when Max kissed her on that cliff, under this heavy rain, and even through the haze of despair wrapped around her, she had been more than glad to reciprocate.

Watching their relationship bloom like that, without feeling it with her senses, had left her genuinely curious about the taste of Max's lips, about how it felt to be so, _so_ close to her now that they were both all grown up women. About how it felt to be her lover. Physically. She kind of regretted she would never have any chance to experience it all... If only they had reconnected sooner…

The scene in the air circle suddenly "jumped" to a near future, stirring Chloe up from her longing thoughts. Max was on her way to Blackwell. She was struggling to walk as the wind's strength had gone from "crazy" to "insane". The branches seemed to wiggle in the air, just as an octopus's tentacles, their last brown leaves long gone by now. The sudden, harsh blows made the trees themselves shake, in a threatening way —

 _Gasp._

An even stronger blow swirled around a tree, uprooting it in an agonizing creak of wood, and Chloe stood agape as she saw the tree crashing on the sidewalk — and Max wasn't swift enough to avoid it.

 _What a stupid death_ , Chloe briefly thought, but then the horrible truth came — _Max had died_ , in this reality.

 _Oh my god oh my fucking god oh my —_

And all of a sudden, the scene got back to Max leaving the Prices' household.

Chloe let out a long sigh of relief, and her mind started racing — how to reach Max? To protect her? If only she weren't on that damn sidewalk, …

 _Use your slowpoke of a brain, Price_ , she spat at herself. _Just tell her to not take her usual path_. She got close to the circle of air, tried to grab its edges as if to jump in there and reach Max physically — of course she couldn't.

So she just thought, as strongly as she could — _please Max. Maxie. Maximus. Do not go there. Try another way. Please Max... I can't see you die_.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** : Hey guys! We're way beyond the second half of this story and I'm really, really happy that you keep reading it. Thank you all for following it, liking it, and for the kind reviews... I hope the next parts won't disappoint you!

-

 **Chapter 9**

(Blackwell, October 15)

Max woke up suddenly, from a sleep she had not been aware of falling into. She was sprawled on the sofa, in a rather uncomfortable position that left her limbs quite numb for a while.

The photo she'd retrieved from the wall had slipped on the floor, and as she sat properly, she grabbed it. A wave of nostalgia ran through her, longing for that lost time when she still was happy, only bothered by normal questioning and with no other mission than her own improvement in photography. And now this was all ruined…

A violent, deafening creak made her jolt on her sofa, increasing her heartbeat. She was totally awake now. She took a look outside.

The weather made the sky so dark she couldn't guess what time it was. The wind blew as wildly as it did when she had arrived earlier, and now it was raining on top of it.

Max's brain froze for a few seconds.

Wind. Rain.

 _Not again…_

 _What's wrong with you, weather?!_ she thought with a mix of anger and fear. _Chloe... Chloe's dead for Arcadia Bay's goddamn sake. Chloe died so that the storm wouldn't exist. So why are you all messed up again?_

 _Or is it... me?_

 _Did I... mess up with something, again?_

 _But I can't rewind anymore... what's wrong?_

She had to go to the lighthouse, see by herself what was really happening.

-

— Argh…

Chloe grabbed her skull in her hands. The effort it took to "talk" to Max was making her mad. The air circle was now showing her some bits of the past — Max and her being dorky pirates on the seashore when they were 8 and 9 respectively, Max and her building pirate conspiracies and giggling in their tree fort two years later, …

Without a clue it switched to different futures... One in which Max had been a renowned photographer. One in which they had never met as kids and that felt so... totally wrong. One in which they were together in their early twenties. Together and happy, Max genuinely laughing at whatever crappy pun Chloe had just pulled out.

In this one they both had engagement rings. And it felt so weird for Chloe... and _so totally damn right_ in the same time.

But mostly she could see the near future, and she really, really didn't like what it had to offer. Right now Jefferson was heading to the girls dorm, escorting a few of his students — including a few of Max's class — under a sea of umbrellas. Probably to make sure they were safe from the raging weather — classes were certainly dismissed at this point. And Max was about to rush out to the lighthouse... she would bump into that creepy guy…

He wasn't aware yet of the investigation going underground. He didn't know, either, that Max was the one who reported him to the police. But from what Chloe had seen, he had planned on kidnapping Max way before she — they — got nosy and found out about Rachel's vanishing.

Whatever true reason he had to go to the girls dorms right now couldn't be innocent in any way, and Chloe didn't know how to help Max out of his deadly claws.

 _Come on_ , Chloe thought. _Find a way to tell her... or to move him out of the way…_

So that was it? The rewind power that Max had and that Chloe had seemed envious of? The power to see all the threads and where they led to... and the pressure of finding the right ones, and the right way to weave them together?

 _Fuck_ , no wonder it gave her headaches and nosebleeds. No wonder she zoned out more often than her "ordinary" nerd self already would.

For once, Chloe urged herself to not complaining. At least where she was she — somehow — couldn't get such unpleasant after-effects. All she had to do was pulling out the right card at the right time. Truth was, she was afraid of screwing up and lead Max to a certain death.

She'd seen her _dying_ in those other realities. And it was unbearable.

And that was what Max had had to go through for an entire week... _Max, Maxie_.

Jefferson was quietly approaching the dorm.

— Jeez, girl, it's time to move your ass wisely, Chloe grumbled, still trying to reach Max's thoughts. Come on, dude…

She had done it before but it had become somehow harder to achieve — and thus, more stressful.

The view of the weather, the darkness, the regular bright flashes of lightning, were getting on Chloe's nerves, too, and troubled her focus.

— And what the fuck with that weather anyway?! she exclaimed in frustration.

— Really, Chloe?

Her dad was there again, back next to her, popped out of nowhere.

— You really wonder what's wrong with the weather? he asked. Come on. I know you're smarter than that, he said, gently squeezing her shoulder.

Chloe turned to him, ready to answer, but seeing his serious look, she couldn't reply. And her heart sank as he resumed speaking:

— You've seen it happen once, haven't you?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

(Blackwell, October 15)

 _Why on Earth would the weather be so... insane?_

It looked so much like a goddamn tornado in the making. Max got to her feet, her heart pounding, her hands slightly shivering. At first she wanted to pin the "blissful selfie" back on the wall, but she second guessed herself and decided it was better to keep it. Thanks God Chloe's jacket had pockets, to keep such meaningful items safe — she had seen it with the butterfly photo, in this... cursed other reality.

 _Why would there be a storm? What did I do wrong this time?_

 _Or maybe... it's Arcadia Bay that was supposed to be destroyed in the first place?_

 _Chloe. My Chloe. I should have saved you…_

Max quickly wiped some tears forming in her eyes. She had to check that to the lighthouse. By herself.

She grabbed her bag and dashed out in the corridor.

She was halfway through it when a sudden nausea squeezed her stomach. So harsh and unexpected that it stopped her dead in her tracks, and she had to set her palm against the wall to keep her balance. She then wanted to resume her pace but another wave of nausea rolled up to her throat.

It was too sudden, too out of nowhere, to be "natural". She thought it was just an uncomfortable aftereffect, like her former nosebleeds — except the shitty power provoking it was gone. Wouldn't it leave her alone, for once? Was that too much to expect from whoever was managing the superpowers department?

Thinking she was about to throw up, she rushed to the bathroom, locked herself in the first stall she found and kneeled down.

Of course nothing wanted to come out.

She thought about leaving, confused and irritated, but then she heard some voices — those from her neighbours. They were talking about Jefferson leading them to the safety of the dorm or something around the line… something she wasn't strong enough to deal with right at the moment. Some other voices called her name, knocking on her room's door — asking if she was there, if she was okay. Another thing she wasn't ready to deal with, but that she couldn't have avoided easily should she have been in her room…

As the voices slowly faded away behind shutting doors, she started to think this nausea had stricken just in time. And it was all gone now. Something weird was happening to her, again.

She waited a few more minutes, just to make sure Jefferson would really be out of her way, and she cautiously, silently, left the dorm.

She ran down the stairs, literally two steps at once, almost falling several times.

She hurtled outside and the cold air stopped her momentarily. The wind, the rain assaulted her again, not as wildly as during the first storm but strongly nevertheless. She pulled out the hood of her sweater from beneath Chloe's jacket and put it on her head. It wouldn't protect her for hours, but long enough to reach the bus stop.

And even in the bus, her heart couldn't stop racing, her whole body shivering from the coldness outside... on the way to the lighthouse, the bus carried her along the shore, and Max felt her heart sink into her ribcage.

Fishes.

Tens of fishes, beached in the muddy sand.

 _Sorry for the throw up thing, Max. But the lighthouse? Really?_ Chloe thought, dumbfounded.

At first she felt relieved Max successfully avoided both a psychopath and her social duty.

Then, thanks to her dad, she had realized she now was the one messing up with Max's reality.

But she couldn't stop trying to help her. She was too deep in this shit now, and the circle of air could dissolve at any time, leaving her powerless — and who knew what would happen to Max, then.

During her whole effort to take Max out of danger, her dad hadn't said anything. He just stood by her side, brushing her back to show support.

 _God-fucking-dammit._ She'd missed that so much.

 _Focus on that fucking lighthouse, Price_ , she thought severely.

The air circle revealed her various realities. She wouldn't get a choice regarding which one would show up, though. At first it displayed meaningless timelines — meaningless, as in: realities she and Max weren't sailing through together. She was eagerly wriggling, waiting for something useful to finally appear —

Finally. Max had reached the bottom of the lighthouse's cliff.

The circle sped up through time and showed some huge rocks being detached from the mud and rolling down and... crushing Max, if she took a certain, usual path — and the whole thing had a strong taste of _déjà-vu_.

Chloe had been killed by people because she'd messed up with society, and Max had Nature herself wanting her death — because she'd messed up with it. It all made sense.

 _Jeez, same things repeat again and again. And Max had to deal with that for me? Multiple gunshots and a goddamn train? Poor thing._

Chloe focused on reaching Max, hoping it would work once again — when she reached a fork on the path, Max seemed to hesitate, facing her right side. Chloe stopped breathing — or the Afterlife equivalent for breathing.

Then Max decided for the left…

She froze still a second later, when a handful of heavy rocks rushed down the path she'd considered choosing.

It started raining stronger.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

(The lighthouse, October 15)

Max finally reached the top of the cliff. She was rain-soaked but she couldn't care less — there was no storm, and that was all that mattered.

There was no storm for now. Just a whole lot of rain and gusts and it was so dark for the early afternoon…

Max deliberately avoided looking at the fishes rotting in the sand. Fishermen complained about the increasing rarity of their preys — so how could there be so many of them, all dead?

Max closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, then reopened them. She felt a bit dizzy. Things were too weird for now, but everything would get sorted out the second Jefferson's scandal would get uncovered…

Yes, it could only mean that. Jefferson's sins had fueled Nature's wrath... he was the only one to blame. He had to be.

Max felt her legs giving out. She realized how tired, how hungry she was — she'd eaten nothing but a pancake in hours, and she'd just climbed a cliff. She figured out she should sit down and rest a bit before heading back to town. She sat on the left end of the lone, wet bench and reached for the pile of pancakes in her bag. Though they'd been carefully wrapped, they were quite damp and crinkled. She ate one nevertheless.

The water on the bench soaked her already drenched generic jeans. It was unpleasant but again, she couldn't care less... the second she sat there, she got overwhelmed by memories. Memories of a close past, that never existed. Memories she couldn't share with anyone, cursed to remain hers only.

Memories as beautiful as the golden hour lighting them, and as painful as the loss they implied.

Memories as radiant as the mesmerizing soul that had lived in them, and was now gone…

She took a brief look at the other side of the bench. It was as if she could see _her_ sitting here, smoking her sorrows away.

 _You're the one I should have saved, Chloe... I wish I had been strong enough to send Arcadia Bay to hell and live with it…_

Her vision got blurry, but at this point, she couldn't have said if it was from raindrops or tears.

-

Chloe was as close as she could from the circle of air, and she could see Max as if she were sitting right next to her. Her face almost touched whatever material it was that displayed the scenes. She wanted to see every single detail, she wanted to _feel_ it, she wanted to be part of it.

She couldn't read Max's thoughts, but regrets were so clear on her face that Chloe felt slightly nauseous about it.

She had to find a way to tell Max that... that she had done her best, that there was no shame in saving thousands of people, that after all she herself had "accepted" to die. She wanted to tell her she shouldn't live with regrets... regrets were useless. Thorns stuck in your heart. She didn't want Max to live this way…

Max was sitting still on that bench, slightly bowed down as if nothing was worth being looked at more than her lap. She was there, so small and frail, battered by the wind and rain — Chloe's chest swelled with longing and affection. She wanted to —

Something weird was happening. The edges of the air circle were fluttering. As if the whole thing was getting unstable…

 _No... not yet... fuck, not yet, give me more time…_

Her eyes opened wider, as if to get as much of Max as she could engrave on her mind, as if she could grasp in a single glance the whole shy, nerdy, yet amazing person she was. She seemed so close... Chloe extended her arm as if she could gently brush...

/

... her shoulder, something just had brushed Max's shoulder, and she jumped. It wasn't the wind, nor the rain — it was too gentle for the current wilderness of the elements.

She turned to her right…

... only to be greeted by a dorky smile and a flash of blue strands.

— Ch— Chloe...?

They both looked genuinely surprised.

This situation wasn't supposed to exist, and yet it did. Except that this time, Max could move and speak…

— I... I'm... Chlo... I'm sorry, she said, nearly choking on sudden sobs she struggled to not let burst.

— Don't be, Chloe replied. Who knows how long I can stay, so listen, hippie. What did I do with my life? Smoking pot. Owing money to the wrong people. Get shot. Become a fucking train-mashed potato. You? You've saved hundreds of people who deserve to live way more than my sorry ass. And you're about to put that fucker in jail. You avenged Rachel and Kate and even me somehow. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to regret.

— But I couldn't save you…

— Don't…

Chloe's words trailed off. Her silhouette got slightly blurry on the edges. Max noticed, and got eagerly closer, a lump in her throat... Chloe had probably noticed too, because she spoke faster:

— Be proud of you. You're amazing, Max... you can become whoever you want to be.

— It's meaningless if you aren't here!

— Come on, she said with a sad grin, you're a smartass. An artsy smartass. You'll find a meaning to all of this, dude.

Chloe's figure was slightly flickering.

— Those moments with you were amazeballs, Maximus, she said, surprisingly peaceful. I'll never forget them.

For a second she dived into Max's intense, teary gaze, and she added:

— I'll never forget you…

— Ch— Chloe— I—

Max couldn't speak anymore, and she hated herself for losing this opportunity to say so much more. Her hands reached out to Chloe, her palms cupping her cheeks — she couldn't feel her skin, not even the shape of her face. Chloe's body was like _sublimating_ , inch by inch.

Max got closer, her gaze locked with Chloe's; she approached her face, closing her eyes at the very last second — she thought she'd kissed her but couldn't feel her lips.

Her heart sank as she reopened her eyes. Her hands were reaching out in the void, her lips hungry for a kiss they'd never get.

Shivering along her spine, echoing into her painful ribcage, the disembodied voice of Chloe quietly whispered:

— Don't you forget about me, Max.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

(The lighthouse, October 15)

Max just sat there, breathless, astonished. The rough touch of the wind and rain felt even stronger now that the real, material world was catching up with her. Then the truth sank in, planted its ugly roots into her guts — now Chloe was gone. Forever.

The dreams she'd had... and this last moment... they were the very last seconds she'd ever get to spend with... her partner in crime... partner in time... her partner.

She didn't know what to do with herself. How to handle this huge pain of a truth. Her chest felt tight and the lump in her throat wouldn't stop growing. Maybe it'd kill her. At least she'd be with Chloe again.

But instead of dying, she just burst into tears. Sobs so violent that she almost choked on them.

She cried for what seemed to last a year at least. During all this time it had been raining restlessly. Her whole body was shaking. She was frozen to the bones, her body so tensed that a single move would hurt.

She needed to see someone. She needed to talk to someone. Someone who would understand how she felt…

She got to her feet. A real struggle, as if her sore body was devoured by rust.

Joyce... she had to go see Joyce. She only would now... she only would understand.

The risky walk from the cliff to the town was kind of blurry. Nothing happened — or if anything did, she probably wouldn't have noticed anyway.

The town offered a desolated view. The saturated drains were spilling out in the deserted streets. Cars were rare, and the bus service had finally been canceled, as Max had seen at the lighthouse's stop.

But the city didn't matter to her. It could be drowned by this downpour for all she cared. And she could drown into it, too.

She made it to the Two Whales eventually. Joyce greeted her with a tired smile, that quickly turned into wide eyes and a shocked expression.

— Max! Oh dear, look at yourself. What's got into you?

— Joyce... I…

Chloe's mother turned around the counter and reached her, a concerned look on her face. Max was about to cry again, and Joyce seemed to feel it, as she sheltered Max against herself, one arm around the girl's shoulders. She lead her to the back of the restaurant. She helped her remove Chloe's jacket — without saying a word about it — then her drenched hoodie. Max ended up wearing only a t-shirt, and the warmth of the diner against her cold skin somehow made her a bit more aware of her surroundings.

Joyce grabbed some clean dish towels in a cupboard and handed them to Max:

— Try to dry your hair, honey, she said. I'll give you my jacket…

She disappeared for a second, and when she came back, Max had done her best absorbing the water from her hair and the few visible inches of her skin.

Joyce put the drenched towels aside and lovingly wrapped Max into her own jacket.

— There, there. There's not much I can do for your jeans but at least half of you won't be cold any longer.

They locked gazes for a while, Joyce's hands resting on Max's shoulders.

— What on Earth were you doing outside, Max? she asked.

Max took a deep breath, tried to swallow the lump that had never really left her throat, and let out in a shaky, emotional whisper:

— Chloe... she's gone now... she's gone…

Joyce contemplated Max. She certainly assumed that her words were that of true realization after a denial phase — she couldn't know what Max actually meant.

But she had affection and care in her eyes, and she gently hugged Max.

— I know, hun, she replied in her low, comforting voice. I know.

They stood like that for a few minutes, and this gentle hug meant more than a thousand words... Max felt understood, and a bit lighter.

— Max, go take a seat, Joyce suggested. I'll bring you a coffee and something to eat, right?

Max nodded.

— Thanks, Joyce.

— Anytime.

They headed back to the main room and Max sat at a booth close to the TV. The place was almost empty due to the insane weather — only a couple of truckers who had had nowhere else to stop.

Joyce came back with a warm coffee and two waffles. Max thanked her and immediately cupped the mug in her palms — on her numb, cold skin, the warmth almost hurt. But it reminded her how alive she was, and made her feel a bit quieter. The harsh pain she'd felt by the lighthouse was slowly turning into some sort of sour melancholy.

She let herself appreciate a sip of coffee and a chunk of waffle — to which her stomach responded with a satisfied growl.

Soon enough she was back on worrying, though — how could it be that no news had leaked about Jefferson yet?

The local evening news would start half an hour later. Maybe she'd get to learn more about it then. They wanted to make sure all their evidences were valid or something. Or exploring both the bunker and the junkyard took them too long. Some uncomfortable feeling settled in Max's chest, though, but she did her best to ignore it. Come on. Nothing could go wrong this time.

She focused on her meal, eating slowly, watching dumb and dumber ads. Knowing her relief would come soon, in the form of a TV news, helped her calm down even more.

The opening credits finally started. And as she hoped, the main title was Blackwell!

She let out a sigh of relief — before realizing the news were not at all what she expected.

They _did_ go to the barn.

They _did_ find the bunker.

They were now _showing it_ to the whole world —

No white blinding spotlights. No tripods or cameras. No red binders.

Just an empty room with shelves full of food and supplies in case of a disaster.

 _No way... no fucking way…_

Max got to her feet, slowly. Something cracked in her skull, and a blinding, deafening rage flooded her. Her neck, her cheeks, her ears, her whole face were burning. She could almost experience the taste of blood.

And Jefferson was explaining _bullshit_ about what he called his shelter. He was serious but friendly, suggesting that any student in need would find help there in case of a disaster…

Oh the irony.

She could barely hear him through the anger that was fueling her pounding heart.

— Bullshit! she shout. That's all... bullshit…

The rage died down, devoured by a sudden rush of despair. Max felt a weakness in her legs and next thing she knew, she was kneeled on the dusty tiles of the floor, the pieces of her shattered mug bathing in a pool of coffee next to her.

Outside, the thunder rumbled.

— What's wrong, Max? Joyce worried. Are you alright?

She was crouching next to Max, slightly brushing her back, a deep concern echoing in her voice.

Max couldn't bring herself to face Joyce. She wanted to tear the world apart, rip it to pieces, and she couldn't even explain why without looking like a crazy brat.

She zoned out, lost in her feelings.

Next thing she knew, she was on the parking lot of the Two Whales, with Joyce, in a car she'd probably borrowed to a colleague.

— What happened, Max? Joyce asked again.

— I just... it's just that…

Joyce seemed to wait for a proper reply, but Max looked away. She was too tired to imagine a consistent answer, even though the coldness was helping her to regain her spirits.

— Fine... listen, Joyce sighed. I'll take you back home, you'll stay overnight so that I can take care of you. You need to rest after all of this mess... poor thing.

— Sorry, Joyce, Max whispered.

The engine roamed.

After Nathan's arrest, Jefferson probably feared to get busted and turned the creepy bunker into a harmless shell.

Max felt like she had failed.

She had failed avenging Rachel.

She had failed bringing peace to Chloe.

This was the only believable explanation — she had failed.

She started crying again — man, that was getting old.

Joyce cast a few worried glances at Max.

— Are you sure you're okay, hun?

— I'm just... super tired... exhausted. As if I were... getting crazy…

There was nothing to reply. Joyce just gave her her best look of sympathy, and focused back on the road.

Some branches were lying down on the asphalt here and there. The few soil not suffocating under the roadsides' pavement was carried off by the water flowing down the street.

The road was slippery as ice, and the surroundings themselves looked threatening in the flickering light of the street lamps — Max had seen Arcadia Bay like this only once.

Joyce was probably the most careful driver in the entire universe. She had nothing to fear with her behind the steering wheel, even through this insane mess…

They turned to the right. The Prices' house was close now.

Something huge crashed right in front of them and Joyce swerved to avoid it…

She lost control of the car.

As an instinct she extended her right arm as a shield in front of Max.

As an instinct Max extended her right arm straight forward, yelling "No!".


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

(Arcadia Bay, October 15)

Next thing she knew, she was on the parking lot of the Two Whales, with Joyce, in a car she'd probably borrowed to a colleague.

— What happened, Max? Joyce asked again.

— I just…

 _I just rewound_ , Max realized. _Oh my god. I saved Joyce_ …

Max's heart skipped a beat. She'd never cease being amazed at how it felt to save a life. The life of someone she cared about.

Joyce noticed she had zoned out again and gently squeezed her forearm. She seemed to wait for a proper reply, but Max kept looking away. Her mind was burning with totally different considerations and she couldn't imagine a consistent answer.

 _If only I had kept the butterfly photo, I could've rewound to it and saved Chloe again and —_

 _No._

 _It would be the same. There would be that tornado again. There would be that choice again._

She got her rewind ability back, and this time, she was going to use it well.

If only she could rewind more…

But she hadn't had any —

 _Ooooooh_.

The campus photograph.

She would rewind to the first days of autumn and instead of avoiding Chloe, of fearing to face her and take her responsibility for bailing on her for years, she would call her, tell her the whole story, hoping her dear punk would believe her... if only in the name of their childhood friendship.

She would tell her how sorry she was…

How hard it had been to see her die so many times…

How much she loved her.

If she rewound this early, Chloe would never go to that bar. She would never meet Nathan and get dosed by him. She would never blackmail him and get shot…

Max's heart was beating so fast she wouldn't have been surprised if it had exploded. She could hear nothing but the blood pounding in her veins, against her temples, and a rush of warmth wrapped her. She patted her pockets, looking for the familiar edges of a polaroid square, only to remember she wasn't wearing Chloe's jacket. It was still hanged somewhere in the back of the Two Whales.

— I'm back in a second, she quickly told Joyce. Forgot something.

She flung the car's door open before Joyce could speak, ran back into the diner and quickly reached the room where they left her soaked clothes. She grabbed the jacket almost furiously, her hands shaking, and pulled out the photograph... it was intact. Untouched by the rain, just as she had hoped when putting it here in the first place.

She let herself fall on the greasy tiles, leaning her back against a cold metallic piece of kitchen furniture. It was uncomfortable but at least sitting would help her to shake less.

She cautiously cupped the picture in her hands — from now on it would be her most precious treasure. She tried to calm down, and stared at the photo.

For a moment, maybe a full, whole, endless minute, nothing happened.

Then the colors got blurry, and next thing Max knew, she was on

/

the campus. She could see the colors of the morning sky, smell the trees and grass and the last flowers, hear the laugh of a seagull and in the distance, the quiet muffled song of the waves... and it all felt so peaceful without the deafening rampage of the wind and rain.

She had done it. She had rewound…

Now she had to call Chloe.

She would save her by not putting her into danger in the first place…

This was the only way…

And then they would be a team again and they could still find the evidences about Rachel's case in David's stuff and... and…

It all made sense, it all sounded so right.

She pulled out her phone and found Chloe's number with shaky hands — luckily she had kept the same one all these years. She pressed "call".

Chloe didn't pick the phone up.

Sure, she was certainly asleep or high or mad. Max could get that.

After the third unanswered call, afraid of running out of time, Max just crafted the best, most complete, most apologizing text she could ever think of, pouring every single inch of herself into its words. And, her heart beating, she pressed "send".

#

(Cedar Street, September 23)

Chloe had just woken up from the weirdest dream. She was with Dad in a crazy Afterlife thing. Unbelievable events happened, including watching Max going through supernatural stuff with another her. Inception of dreams. Maximum highness.

Then her dad had hugged her tightly and told her:

— You have to go. It's not your time yet. I'll keep an eye on you. I love you.

She had gotten caught in a swirl of mushy stuff and tears... and she woke up.

Quite troubled, she checked her phone, less and less hoping for a missing call from Rachel suddenly remembering she existed.

There indeed was a missing call. A bunch of those, dated back to a few minutes ago, and a long ass text, of the most unexpected kind.

She dubiously read Max's essay, astonished it actually just existed. She had a hard time understanding all of it, and at first she was a bit reluctant to get involved, but somehow she connected the dots with her last dream…

Well. It looked like today was gonna be _that kind of day_.

She hit the call button.

— Max? What kind of nerdy shit are you into again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

(Blackwell, October 15)

Max woke up, slowly, emerging from a dreamless slumber. She could barely hear a few notes repeating over and over — the Blade Runner DVD's menu theme. The warm light of late afternoon bathed the whole room, shining on a handful of candy wrappers spread on the floor. She was in Blackwell again, and it felt so... peaceful, for the first time in... forever.

She was comfortably lying on her left side, and felt a gentle, delicious warmth embracing her body — the soft skin of an arm loosely draped around her waist.

The soft, _tattooed_ skin of an arm loosely draped around her waist, _halfway under her top_.

 _Oh my god_.

Her right hand carefully slid along said arm, as if it were made of porcelain.

 _Oh my god_.

She felt the warmth of a breath brushing the back of her neck, sending shivers all along her spine:

— You awake?

This was Chloe's voice, sleepy and peaceful for the first time in eons, and a whirlwind of love and relief and emotions got suddenly trapped in Max's ribcage.

— Oh my god, she whispered back.

Chloe let out a soft chuckle, spreading a flock of butterflies to every inch of her flesh.

— Oh my god, she repeated, pouring a lifetime of emotions into a single whisper.

— You alright? Chloe asked.

— Yea— Yeah...

 _Finally_.

Finally, they got reunited.

She extended her wrist in a way Chloe wouldn't suspect it and tried to rewind.

Nothing happened.

No pain in her skull, no blurry, blood-stained vision, nothing.

The power was gone.

She was free. They were free.

— Max? Hello Max? Captain Chloe speaking?

— I— I'm— Right here— Just—

— Is this about your weird time travelling stuff? You said it was gone…

— It is. I'm back. For the last time. Forever.

— You sound so high...

For all this chatting Chloe had lazily stayed here, spooning Max, as if she was comfortable and didn't even have the will to move.

— I'm not, Max replied. But... in another timeline, today is when I rewound to the day I finally contacted you.

— Best fucking decision you've ever made, Chloe stated.

Max slid her right arm against Chloe's again and hesitantly intertwined their fingers. Chloe reciprocated by tightening the lacing.

— So... Max started. Are we...

Max already knew the answer, but somehow needed to hear it.

— Oh _yes_. We _hella_ are.

Max let out a deep, deep, deep breath of relief and content. Her heart swelled with happiness and hope in the future's promises. Their future.

Chloe slightly rose her head in concern:

— You don't remember?

— I— It's kind of blur— Ooooh…

Max hold her breath as memories flooded her. Moments her present self technically hadn't lived, busy sailing through timelines to finally make things right.

Whether it was the last evolution of her former power, or a gift from the Universe for all her — their — suffering... she didn't care and she gladly, greedily accepted it, absorbed it all.

How she revealed everything to Chloe, how she gave all the evidences about Rachel's case and Nathan and Jefferson and the barn — which had led Chloe to fully believe in everything she had said.

How they got close almost immediately, as if all these years had never existed.

How three days ago they reached the lighthouse and, enthralled by the peaceful atmosphere of the golden hour warming the clear, quiet sea, they finally kissed.

How _right_ it all felt.

— I remember it all, Max said in a breath.

— Wow, Chloe sighed, snuggling closer. You almost scared me out, dude.

They stayed like that for a while, in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's warmth and presence.

Then Chloe spoke, a bit hesitantly — so true and emotional that Max thought she loved her even more, if that was possible.

— Weird shit doesn't happen only to you, you know.

— Really? Tell me more.

— The day we reconnected. I had the weirdest dream ever. I was in a crazy place with... Dad. He called it Afterlife. He told me that from _there_ I could see every single shit going on _here_ , in whatever... timeline. He showed me what you did, everything you faced... for me. That's why I called you back that day. Then he... apologized…

Max felt a slight tension stiffening Chloe's body and she knew why: she was struggling with this emotional stuff that made her so uneasy. Then she relaxed and continued:

— He told me I wasn't supposed to be up there with him... plus some other mushy stuff... and I woke up. And to find what? Your text about weird nonsensical shit. But in the end, she added after a bewildered pause, it all makes sense.

Max wriggled in Chloe's arms to be able to face her. She brushed her cheek, her jawline with feathery fingertips.

— That's why you're less... angry than in the first timeline, she realized.

A loving smile curled her lips up, reaching her doe eyes, and she added:

— I'm so, so happy for you, Chloe.

Chloe responded with a wide grin and a quick, playful Eskimo kiss that was enough to put Max's heart head over heels. The want to kiss her tied Max's guts in tight, elaborated knots and she whispered:

— And... I'm so happy we can finally be together again.

— Together now, and forever.

Chloe's tone was so solemn and true that Max knew it was a promise, leaving her speechless.

She let the moment sink in, contemplating Chloe, mesmerized by her blue strands catching the evening light, her blue, expressive eyes, her soul, blue from both bruises and sheltered hopes.

Her gaze was more and more attracted to her lips, and she noticed Chloe's was, too, to hers; she smiled, letting out a dreamy sigh. She leaned in, closed her eyes, and kissed Chloe.

Softly at first, like a gentle brush.

Then slowly, deeply, appreciating Chloe's taste — a mix of smoke and candies.

They kissed, peaceful, tightly wrapped in each other's warmth, as if time itself had frozen — and it all felt so right.

* * *

 **Author note** : This chapter is actually a bonus chapter... and with it comes the end of this fanfic ! It's been a pretty great adventure to write this story, and I'm really, really grateful to all of you, for reading, following, faving, reviewing it... All of this is priceless for a writer :) Thanks !


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